Keeping Up With the Crazy

Today I had to take D. to the pediatrician for a followup on his ear infection. Did I mention the ear infection? and the screaming? And the raging fever? No? Maybe? I don't recall.... Well, trust me, this one was a doozy, but ten days of something pink and bubble-gummy and we seemed to be better, so we went to check today. The pediatrician, Dr. Sweetie, is a friend; we know her socially. ALWAYS choose a pediatrician whose home phone number and address are in your cell phone.

OK, so D's ears are fine, his lungs are fine (she had worried about pneumonia), all is right in D's world. So then, I asked for a recommendation for a regular doctor for myself, one who does not deliver babies, and also a gastroenterologist so that I could perhaps deal with the fact that I have mild colitis instead of just ignoring the stabbing stomach pains. And then I casually asked, "Also, are there any anxiety medicines I can take while I'm nursing?" Suddenly, Dr. Sweetie is sitting next to me, holding my hand, and trying to sound reassuring while trying to quickly ascertain that I don't plan to stab my whole family and plunge out the window.

"No, I'm not depressed," I told her. "But when I'm driving down the freeway and I start thinking, 'What if my car plunged off a bridge into a lake and I had to save all four of my children in the backseat? How would I carry them all to safety?' -- this, I think, is anxiety." She called over to my OB's office and got me an appointment with the nurse practicioner for immediately, right away, come right now. So D. and I drove over to the other building and went in. The NP listened to what I had to say and wrote me a script for an ultra-low dose of Zoloft, ran some bloodwork, and gave me the numbers of a couple of therapists. As Dr. Sweetie requested, I called her to update her. Here is why I like Dr. Sweetie so much:

"So, she gave me the script and did the bloodwork, and she also gave me the numbers of some therapists, which I think is...well, I understand why she did it, but I don't really think I have issues."

"Right, this isn't about your mother or how you're hearing voices. I agree. Therapy is nice sometimes, but let's just get you some drugs."

My kind of girl.

I already googled Zoloft and breastfeeding, and I'm feeling OK with it. Also, as Dr. Sweetie says, "So what if it makes the baby happy too?" Heh.

(We all got the tongue-in-cheek-ness there, right?)

OK, so then, I started to envision the phone call I'd have with my mom. And as I am wont to do, I'm walking in circles around my kitchen talking softly to myself. Whispering, really. And I'm just running the lines "But when I feel stomach cramps and immediately think, 'Oh, my appendix must be rupturing, and I'll die of sepsis, and in the morning Mr. WG will find my dead body and have to call 911 while keeping the children from discovering me', that's just a little bit, oh, I don't know, CRAZY" -- I've just whispered this aloud in my kitchen when my housekeeper walks me, keeping a safe distance between the two of us.

Yeah. So next week when she sees the pill bottle in my bathroom, she'll put it all together and just shake her head knowingly.

So. A new adventure. WG on drugs!

Seriously, I think I'm feeling a little bit proud of myself for actually doing something about the way I've been feeling. Sr. Sweetie said that it can be really hard to make decisions when you're in the midst of anxiety and whatever, and that's definitely true for me. Experience to share, anyone?